I hate how cliché it sounds when someone starts a story by saying, “I always dreamt of it, so I did it!” I think, ‘always’ is quite vague and surreal. For me, it all begins on a Sunday night and everybody is at home, seated in the living room with cups of tea. It is 8 pm, prime time for news on Rwanda TV. We are all watching but I seem more passionate than the rest and this has been going on for a while now. My mom comments on the journalist’s hair and everybody laughs except me; my dad tells everyone to keep quiet so that he can listen to the news. “Can’t you be like Jade? Look at how she is so concentrated,” he says. At the sound of my name, I look up to my father and say; “Dad, I want to become like her when I grow up.” I was 9 years old and just joined primary four. Why I don’t prefer using the word always is because a very long-time passed before this dream crossed my mind again. Every year I had a new dream, I was constantly influenced by stories I heard, my parents, books or the movies I watched and so different careers flashed in my mind; a teacher, a journalist, a doctor, an engineer, a pilot and many more. It wasn’t before senior two that I again thought of becoming a journalist. At my school, I had joined a media club and on this particular Friday, I recall being very happy because I was made vice-president of the journalism club. That afternoon, my English teacher entered the class and the subject for the day was passion, which is a word that I only discovered at the age of 13. Different students went one by one, to share what they were passionate about. When my turn came, I said, “I’m passionate about history and languages. I’m constantly curious about what is going on around us!” My teacher nodded and responded to me, “You should be a journalist Jade.” She couldn’t have known, but her words marked me forever. I took sciences (Mathematics, Chemistry and Biology) in advanced level, and so media didn’t have a big space in my life anymore. Things changed, till a year later, when my friends and I decided to initiate a media club at my new school. It went well and I saw myself grow in that direction. I came to conclude that my interest in the media would end once I got done with high school. This was because I saw it nowhere in the future. Four years later, I passed an interview for a journalist job at The New Times; which I had grown attached to due to my debate activities in school, where we would quote some of its articles. I had seen an announcement on their social accounts and decided to give it a try. On May 25, clothed in an elegant pale pink blouse that matched my nail polish, a pair of black pants, classy pearl-pink high heels, and a matching side bag; I went ready to realise my childhood dream. I was ready to conquer the world or, let’s say, The New Times. However, I soon realised it was going to take more than that. I had to earn my position and I did, or I’m still trying. My first week as a journalist, I was ignored, had appointments cancelled and was misunderstood by my interviewees. I was frustrated and felt like giving up. I was drained of inspiration while I saw my colleagues publish their stories. My mind was generating overwhelming pressure and I started losing sleep over it. “Journalists are annoying,” my friend said – and made it worse. Weeks later, I’m still here. I didn’t give up on my childhood dream despite the challenges. I wanted relief and so, I talked to the only people I knew would understand me; my colleagues. We were all going through the same thing at some point. Through it all, I saw people who would treat you with respect, welcome you and provide you with relevant responses politely, then your editor would be pleased and your day would be made. The nine-year-old me didn’t know all this would happen. She didn’t know about the flame that kept me going; she didn’t know a simple childish wish would turn into a burning passion. But I know now, or at least I’m learning and I won’t stop. I will be around for a while.
